


Let Us Cling Together

by Candy_and_Ronnie



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bohemian Rhapsody (2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (movie), Death, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 22:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19485073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_and_Ronnie/pseuds/Candy_and_Ronnie
Summary: A rendition of the turmoil in Freddie’s final days in the recording studio.





	Let Us Cling Together

Their music is always some sort of distinct definition whether it be resonant chords held for many beats or gentle falls and swells, but today they couldn’t find their rhythm. Their dynamic is horribly torn between them given that Freddie was the glue that held them together. Now that he can’t be in the studio as much, they find that their eyes have all turned red and heavy by the lack of his sanguine presence. They only knew that his absence only antedated what was to come after he was truly gone. Not only that, but they also feel useless having seen this debilitating ailment tear apart their dearest friend week by week, and there’s not a single thing they could do about it.

They all have to force themselves to push their blown rockstar egos down, yet still manage to produce an agreeable product. Though, Brian doesn’t want the end result to be just //agreeable//, he wants it to be the extraordinary vision that one may find in the last notes they would ever play together with Freddie. 

Though, everyone knows that the band is no machine, and Brian is no perfect human being. That’s why he finds himself plagued by nightmare inducing paranoia after intervals of time without sleeping. The case isn’t helped by his habitual coffee drinking and ingestion of sleep aids. He digs himself deeper into insanity by his inconsistent wake sleep schedule to the point that his anxiety has forced painful images of his dear friends death, leaving him experiencing periods of either euphoria, sadness, or manic episodes of productivity. 

Brian nervously picks at the callouses on his fingers, the worry now prominently fronting his demeanor. The seemingly off beat of Roger’s drumming was steadily becoming more apparent to Brian with every passing second. He wasn’t actually sure whether Roger was particularly offbeat or if it was just a figment of his imagination. Though, what he does know was that there was something that was off about the drums that was making playing his guitar a lot harder. 

“For the love of God, the meter is one hundred beats or so then it transitions to approximately ninety-six at the bridge. Freddie’s got his isolated vocals spiel after that, then it reverts back to where we fucking started, Rog!”  
Brian ran his hands over his eyes, tears threatening to spill over. He made his stance with conviction, yet it’s still plighted with the slightest of doubts.  
He knows the drummer knows full well what the time signature is, but he also knows that regardless, Roger will do the thing he thinks sounds right. 

Then again, the guitarist’s vision of the song is preposterously skewed and he’s convinced himself that he can’t play unless the metronome is at exactly what he said despite it being completely wrong. 

John quietly sits staring down at his hands, the unbridled rage threatening to split his composure in two. He somewhat knows the extent in which he could really break one’s spirit simply by people’s immediate reactions, yet he sometimes fails to notice the long term effect. Each member of the band has had their fair share of John’s relentless, horrible truths, but because he values his friends’ feelings, he often keeps his vilifications to himself. Though, he can’t help the piping hot rage in him that is eating him away. The irrational part of his mind deems his band mates behavior as selfishly pawning off Freddie’s time for a platinum album. 

“Y’know, Brian, Roger’s right for once.”  
The words came from him tightly and reserved. He tried to avoid interjecting himself into the arguments, yet this time his emotions are on high. 

Both the drummer and the guitarist turned their heads to John who held both their eye contact with his own heavy, tired eyes. Roger indignantly squared up his position in his chair, suddenly finding the energy to argue, maybe even throw a few punches. The tension was now hanging over so heavily that all the energy in the studio had stilled into a dangerous territory. None of them were the rational one today. 

“What do you mean by ‘for once’ you pretentious asshole.”  
The words that Roger never thought would be directed to the most neutral party of the group seethed from his mouth. 

“I mean, you’re mostly subjectively wrong in relation to the opinions of the group, Rog. You’re painstakingly disagreeable.”  
John maintained the most flat and monotone voice he could, yet he found it rising through gritted teeth. The thing is, at the moment, no one could really disagree with him, and any argument they were preparing to make was deemed tenable by his simple statements. The studio had gone silent for a good while as everything stilled with heavily scrutinizing thought that was overtly directed at one another despite the lack of words. The silence hung long after its welcome, carrying the tension gradually away, though they were all still aware that someone’s going to want to get the last word. 

Oddly, it was Brian who attempted a formidable argument despite the last jab being at roger. 

“You know what, Deacon? You’re the real assh—“

“You know what, Brian? You’re just as much as a self-aggrandizing asshole as the rest of us, so you both can shove your million dollar egos up your ass ‘cause this isn’t my time, this isn’t your time, nor is it your time. It’s Freddie’s fucking time that we’re wasting. We’re running—we’re running out of time with him so quickly.”  
John’s voice started with sureness and conviction, but faltered out as his anger was reduced to the true source: sadness. He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at the other two members, pleading for them to remember who they’re doing this for. 

“Right now, who we were in the past doesn’t matter. Can we please, //please// just do this how we did when we first started. We couldn’t afford to argue. We couldn’t buy enough studio time for that.”  
The words spilled from John’s mouth shaken and torn as if they were coming from a sad little kid. Suddenly, the dire reality set in so somberly, yet so freeing. They had known the harsh truth for a while, but now they know what they needed to do.  
Roger was the first to wrap his arms around the weeping bassist thinking of the old days when they were like brothers more so than band mates. Then it was Brian who wrapped his trembling arms around the huddle.  
He too was crying. 

He remembers this feeling all too well; and misses it dearly. It felt like those days in the yesteryears when every victory they had shot their career up the charts. Yet, when they finally found themselves at the top, the sentiment disappeared. The victories being to each their own. Though, this wasn’t a victory by any stretch, this was a reconciliation which he finds, somehow, feels even better.

Then the studio was now coated with a different type of silence. The melancholy type of quietude that left a scarily empty space for thought. The only thing that could be heard was the steady tick of a clock, chipping away at time tick by tick. The silence was just as heavy as the first lapse in argument, but the animosity it held was gone. But of course, the silence was short lived. 

A shattering clap echoed through the recording studio. Then it was a barrage of claps in succession to one another, startling the group out of their wits.  
Freddie’s slender form sauntered into the studio flourishing a heavy red blanket, draped around him like a cape. He was paler than when they had last seen him, and he held himself a little less rigidly than he did due to his weakened state, but he was still smiling. 

“I was only here for the last five minutes of the soap opera, but it was bloody brilliant. Such feeling! Such certitude!”  
Freddie gushed, still obnoxiously clapping his hands.  
They all couldn’t help, but chuckle at Freddie’s theatrical mockery. 

They were still together.  
A band of brothers. Queen.

“Now, I know you all are tired, darlings, so how about we get this thing done tomorrow?”  
Freddie smiles with his hands together waiting for the rest of the band’s affirmation. 

“But Freddie—“  
Roger started, now being painstakingly aware of how many tomorrows they had.

“I’ll be here tomorrow. That’s a promise.”  
Freddie looked them all dead in the eyes when he said it, leaving no room for denial. 

“We love you, Fred.”  
Brian says wiping the tears from his eyes and offering a smile.  
Freddie returns the smile with his own impish one. 

“I love you all too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a sad bitch


End file.
